


The Bastard Children of Loki Of Asgard

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Brought To Justice [8]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Contracts, Family Bonding, Fix-It of Sorts, Forgiveness, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Marvel Norse Lore, Myth Arc, Mythology References, Plot, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Book 1.5 of Brought To Justice.Loki asks Steve to accompany him to Asgard, so that he can complete his final piece of mischief there.





	The Bastard Children of Loki Of Asgard

**July 22 nd, 2012  
10:00AM**

“You broke the connection, huh?” Anthony asks. He looks at Loki with the barest hint of uncertainty in his face, and Loki slowly bows his head. Does Anthony _fear_ him, Loki wonders? Loki settles in a suit of pastel blue, his glasses on his nose, his hair tied in a tight bun over his head. The bar through his ear is plainly visible. He doesn’t _look_ like something to be feared – but then, Anthony is far too intelligent to worry about something as basic as appearances.

“I will be taking a sojourn to Asgard today,” Loki says mildly, as if in response to the question. Every single person sat about the table stops in their place, and Loki smiles, thinly. “I have unfinished business there.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Steven asks, lowly.

“Oh, it is the _only_ idea,” Loki replies quietly. “This is a most urgent matter and must be attended to with alacrity.” Steven had left him at X-Mansion at Loki’s behest, and as he had trained with the X-Men, his evenings had been devoted to more important considerations. Casting off the name of _Loki of Asgard…_ A most crucial matter indeed. If he is not quick, why, if news is to travel to Odin that he has cast off his bonds…

Better Loki do this now, while the metal is hot.

“Can I come?” Steven asks.

“I would be honoured if you would stand with me,” Loki assents immediately. “It may become violent. You ought bring your shield.”

“You need back-up?” Anthony asks, and immediately the others lean in – Bruce’s expression is focused behind his spectacles, and Natasha and Clint each look focused. Wanda does not lean forward, but raises her chin higher, and looks _determined_. In Loki’s chest, he feels a blossom of _affection_ bloom, and he smiles.

“Nay,” he says. “Steven will be more than enough. Too many people behind me, and Odin will suspect—” Loki trails off, and he grins. “My thanks, to all of you. But it is better than Steven and I go alone.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Clint asks.

“Something cunning.” Natasha smiles.

“Cool,” she says. “Take pictures.” Loki laughs.

“I shall endeavour to.”

 **\-----** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\- ⓁⓈ -** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\-----**

**July 22 nd, 2012  
11:21AM**

Steve pulls his helmet onto his head, strapping it under his chin. This suit is… Different. It’s darker than other iterations and the star on his chest is quietly silver against the deep blue – comfortable, but stealthy. The only red left to his uniform is in the stripe of his shield now, and he reaches up, dragging his fingers over the star.

“This plan – I assume you have a plan?” He’d messaged Nick Fury to stay he’d be out of contact for at least a day.

“I have a plan,” Loki confirms. The suit is gone. Now, he wears robes of dark blue, with silver accents— Steve turns from Loki to look at himself in the mirror, and he realises Loki has paired their colour schemes against one another. If anything, Steve looks like _he’s_ been modelled after Loki. Loki’s hair is tied up in a bun away from the nape of his head, with three or four strands hanging down the sides of his face, and he’s put his glasses away, probably wearing the magical lenses he’d worked out from Namor’s library. And then—

The illusion fades away. Loki stands as blue as the day he was born, and more than that, Steve can see the scars on his skin. The spattered scars around his eyes are beginning to fade, probably from whatever balm he’s been rubbing on them, but the others stand in stark visibility. The pockmarks around his lips; the zig-zagging, lightning bursts of scars that ripple up the flesh of his bare arms; the heavy callouses and marks around his hands, and underneath those… The Jötunn marks are scored into Loki’s flesh, following a pattern Steve can’t quite puzzle out. The shine of the silver at his ear looks brighter than before.

“You ever been before them without an illusion before, right?” Steve asks.

“Never,” Loki proclaims, and he puts out his hand. Steve takes it, feels the strange cold of Loki’s flesh against his own, and Loki inhales, tipping his head back for a second. It makes the two marks – one from a noose of chain, Steve would guess, with its visible, separate links, and the other from a thin knife cutting halfway across Loki’s neck – stand out in pale white against the blue of the skin. “But I have a plan. And no harm will come to you – no one would dare.”

“Just what are you planning to do?” Steve asks.

“I can’t tell you,” Loki murmurs. “Heimdall is listening as we speak, and were he to hear me state my plan, he would be obligated to inform the Allfather of it. Rest assured, it is nothing that will put the realm of Midgard in danger.”

 _The realm of Midgard_ , Steve thinks. _And what about Asgard_?

“Okay,” he says.

“Heimdall,” Loki says, more to the room at large than to Steve himself. “As you _are_ listening—” And then, it’s like the room is tilting around them. This is completely different to Loki’s version of _dimensional transitways_ , where the universe just neatly turns to put you somewhere else: the two of them are _soaring_ through space, and Steve can feel the wind rushing past his hair as he lets out a _whoop_ of delighted surprise. He can see Loki smiling, his scarred lips drawn up into the smile, and he grips tightly at Loki’s hand and then at the front of his robes, unwilling to let them go.

They come to a stop in a beautiful, high-ceilinged room, made in a perfect semi-sphere. In awe, Steve stares around at the golden walls, where heavy windows show into different areas of space. He sees _galaxies_ , and nebulae – he sees strings of stars that shine green and blue instead of white, and he is blown away. Heimdall is tall. _Damn_ tall. Steve turns to look at him, dressed in shining gold armour, his hands clasped loosely around a huge sword that sits in the centre of a huge, key-like mechanism.

“I see the repairs are well underway,” Loki says mildly.

“No thanks to you.”

“T’was not I who wrought the bridge to pieces with a hammer,” Loki says. Heimdall’s lip curls, and his golden eyes settle hard on Loki’s face, but Loki remains unflinching. He seems taller like this, in his Jötunn form with his robes touching the ground – Steve doesn’t miss the way Heimdall’s gaze flits to the piercing through Loki’s left ear, and the marginal shake of his head. “Do not forget, Heimdall, that I can hide all I wish from your Allsight, if I so choose. So has it been for two thousand years.” Loki’s voice is gentle, and he reaches out, touching one of his hands to Heimdall’s where it rests over the sword. This seems to surprise the man, because he stiffens, staring down at Loki’s blue fingers as if he’s never seen them before. “You have as much of my heart as Thor and the Lady Frigga, Heimdall.”

Alarm shows in the man’s face. “What brings you to Asgard?” Loki laughs.

“Foolishness,” he says, and he drags his hand away. Steve looks out to where the globe shows an archway: a bridge made of rainbow crystal crumbles into pieces, and a rough rope bridge has been made between the city and this, the Watchtower. The city is unlike anything Steve has ever seen, full of golden spires and glittering in the sun. Loki puts out his hand to Steve again, and Steve takes it.

Loki walks upon the air.

Knowing the drill, Steve follows beside him, and the two of them walk over the rope bridge as if it isn’t even there. Loki’s gait is slow and statesman-like, his robes flowing around his ankles in the soft breeze. “What’d you mean?” Steve asks lowly. It’s been… _Weird_ , living in Brooklyn, on his own. Especially knowing he’d invited Loki to live with him in a fit of impulsive thought, and… Well. Maybe it’s sentimental of him. He keeps imagining Loki on the sofa, Loki in his bed, Loki complaining about the size of his meagre kitchen, and this is the first day he’s seen Loki in _weeks_ , and here they are, marching on Asgard. “What you said to Heimdall?”

“It was Heimdall who found me, after my time with Svaðilfari. I told you that, that he carried me home. He walked for three days with me in his arms, clinging as desperately to him as if I was still the child who got so easily lost in the woods, even with my belly swollen, my whole form covered with blood… He didn’t want to use the Bifrost because the magic would have shocked my system further, but he could have. Heimdall…” Loki sighs, and he shifts the position of Steve’s hand in his own, linking their fingers together. “He is loyal to Asgard above all. He has betrayed countless kings in the service of Asgard as a realm, and yet he has always treated me with kindness, when I hate Asgard, and Asgard hates me. I find that very admirable.”

“You’re not gonna—” Steve stops. Loki can’t tell him, he _knows_ , but God, it’s hard to trust Loki when the guy is… What had Bruce called him? A bag full of cats? The description is still alarmingly accurate, no matter what his feelings for Loki are. “Do they really hate you? The Asgardians?”

“They hate magic, and women, and things they don’t understand. I flit between the three categories like a bird between trees.” Steve can see the city sprawling beneath them now, the bright golden spires of the bigger buildings, and the smaller buildings the lower classes must live in. He hears market hawkers calling out in a language just like English; he sees children running in the streets; he hears pigs and donkeys and cows—

They keep walking. Skywalking doesn’t seem to take even the barest toll on Loki, and they move easily over the main bulk of the city, beginning to descend as they reach the great, golden steps of the palace. Some of the guards stop them, and immediately Steve can hear them yelling to one another, some of them rushing inside, but no alarm bells ring.

On some level, he guesses, they were expecting this. “Keep behind me, and to my left,” Loki instructs in a low voice. “Your hands clasped in _front_ of you, never behind your back. Speak only when spoken to, and only if I give you the nod. I need to pick words very carefully, and I can’t afford to let you speak freely: I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. The apology sounds genuine, at least, and he steps carefully onto the colourful stone in front of the palace’s entrance.

“Einherjar, I would seek an audience with his royal majesty, King Odin Allfather, Son of Bor.” This is spoken to a bearded guide with a thick beard at his chin, and the Einherjar stares at Loki for a long few moments, his grey eyes wide, before nodding. He marches with a quiet _clink, clink_ of his armour, and Loki follows after him. His silver slippers, which come up only to his ankle and leave his pale legs showing whenever the robes ride up, make no sound on the marble floor. Steve’s boots do, though.

God, why is everything in Asgard so _massive_? They step into a wide throne hall with a ceiling so high Steve would need a helicopter to reach toward the top, and great pillars shine in gold, supporting the ceiling’s arches. There are great statues, showing bearded men and beautiful women…

And there, sat upon the throne, is Odin. He sits up straight, clasping a spear tightly in his right hand, and he stares imperiously down at Loki.

Loki does not bow.

“Your majesty, King Odin Allfather, Son of Bor,” Loki says. He doesn’t use his god voice, doesn’t let it thrum on the air, but the voice is princely and noble, loud and echoing in the great hall. Already, Steve can see people rushing inside – Thor, Mjölnir hanging from his hip, and a group of three men that stand around his shoulders, as well as a woman with long, dark hair. There are others, too: a tall woman that stands beside Thor – Frigga? – and impressive figures, both men and women… Gods, Steve realises. Almost all of these people are gods, and all of them are looking at Loki with horror, whispering amongst themselves, nudging one another as they go. “As your Einherjar seems too _starstruck_ , I shall present myself: to my left is my shield-mate, Steven Rogers of Midgard. _My_ name is Loki Skywalker, son of Böl.” He introduces himself as if they’ve never met, and judging from the confused looks around the room, it’s not a standard insult.

“Son of Böl?” Odin repeats, dryly. “You?”

“I,” Loki confirms. _Böl_ , Loki has told him, means grief, sorrow…

“You’ve broken your bonds,” Odin says, and he stands. With the spear beside him, up a flight of red-carpeted steps, he seems taller than ever. “And you dare to stand here, in the throne of my ancestors, wearing that filthy skin?” Loki smiles, and Steve stands a little straighter.

“Of course,” Loki says, spreading his hands. “I come bearing _great news_ , Son of Bor!”

“What is that?”

“Ah, but my news is not for you alone,” Loki says cheerfully. “I must call for a Council of the Gods.” The smile disappears, and Loki throws magic upon the ground: a burst of seiðr burns itself into a silver circle, spreading out so widely that Loki and Odin are left at opposite ends of it, and Steve can see Odin’s single eye widen in surprise. “I still have that right, I believe.”

Odin lifts the spear, and with a loud _boom_ , he hits it upon the ground.

“A member of our Council has called for us to draw together,” he declares, and he looks at Loki severely. “Take your places.” Some of the Æsir move forward, taking their places at notches around the circle. The tall woman stands at Odin’s left hand, and to his right stands Thor, who looks nothing less than _distraught_ , but holds his tongue. Steve sees a beautiful, red-haired woman that shoots Loki a look of scorn – he sees her hands have the marks of old burns on them: Freya, standing beside a man that must be her twin. A golden-haired young woman who stands hand-in-hand with a man whose beard reaches down to his waist – Iðunn, Loki’s vague education supplies, and her husband Bragi. Heimdall is suddenly beside Bragi – he must have teleported in here.

“That’s Forseti,” Loki murmurs to Steve. “He wears mistletoe in his hair because he thinks it upsets me. There, Gefjon: a goddess of fertility in her own right. There, Kvasir. Njord and Jarnaxa, and that’s Hoenir. The other woman with golden hair, the Vanir… That is my wife, Sigyn. There, Tyr… And here, Ve and Vili. Just one more.” He turns back to the circle again, and feigns bafflement, rubbing at his chin. “I fear we miss one of our number!”

“Whom?” Odin demands.

“Why, Odin, Son of Bor! You have forgotten the best of us! Where is **Hel**?” The word thrums through the room, echoing off the golden walls, and Steve grabs hold of Loki’s shoulder to keep from falling as the ground shudders beneath them. Loki’s hand touches over Steve’s own, keeping him steady until the earthquake stops, and then—

Steve sees her at the entrance of the throne hall.

Hel is a slight woman. Her long, black hair comes in silken waves down to her hips, unbraided, and she wears black, shimmering robes… Steve is reminded of Loki’s robes as Motlordraugr, the robes he had worn to keep Steve from dying last month. Hel’s skin is even paler than Loki’s own in his Aesir form, with a blue tint to it: her lips are plumper than her father’s, and her eyes are so black Steve thinks he can see the glitter of stars in them. The other gods and goddesses are visibly unsettled, most of them leaning away from Hel as she slowly approaches the circle – cold radiates out from her like heat out of a sun, and Loki gestures for her to take her place at his right hand side, as if paralleling Thor beside Odin.

“Father,” she says. Her voice is rasping, like a winter’s wind.

“Dottir,” he replies, and his fingers brush against her shoulder – Steve doesn’t think he misses the way they pass slightly _through_ the black-clad muscle. The centre of the circle flickers into flame, and Steve stares at its blue crackle. “Very good. So glad to see you all – glad tidings do I bring.”

“No one here trusts you, Loki,” Freya says, her voice harsh. “Get on with it.” Loki scoffs.

“Oh, as if _any_ of us trusts each other. You think you can deceive _me_ , my dear? You forget your place, and mine. But that is the subject on which I would speak! You notice, I suspect, that I do not wear the skin Odin painted me with when he stole me from the temple in Jötunheimr.” Odin’s lip curls. Most of the Council remains silent – each of them looks at one another, but not one of them dares to say anything, and Loki’s smile is thin where it settles on his mouth. “Come now. Most of you did _know_. I am not of Asgard. I am of Jötunheimr.”

“Get on with it,” Odin says.

“Temper, temper, Son of Bor. We are all equals upon this Council, are we not?” What the Hell is he _doing_? Steve clasps his hands a little more tightly where they’re held in front of his stomach: each of the gods is getting more irritable as the seconds tick by. “Nearly all of us, anyway. Well, worry not!” Loki conjures a helmet – Steve recognizes it as the helmet he had worn when he had invaded Midgard. “I stand before you today, esteemed Council, to renounce – officially – my title as Loki, Son of Odin, Husband of Sigyn, Son of Frigga, Brother of Thor.” He throws the helmet into the fire, and Steve stares as the blue flame _devours_ it, the brassy metal sparking.

“What?” Thor demands. “What does that— What do you _mean_?”

“I cast off all claim to Asgard,” Loki continues, throwing folded green armour into the flame. “And all of Asgardian law. I break my bonds to all of you, and I renounce my destiny as Loki of Asgard.” Sigyn’s hands are clenched into tight fists, and Thor doesn’t think he imagines the tears welling in her almond-shaped eyes.

“Renounce your destiny?” Bragi repeats. His voice is soft and lilting. “But you cannot do that. The Norns themselves will never assent.”

“They will if the Council votes unanimously to accept my request,” Loki says. His voice is low, and his gaze is concentrated solely on Odin’s face. Odin’s jaw is clenched tightly, his grip just as tight upon the spear. “I would take what possessions I have, what scant links I have to Asgard, and I will remove myself from the annals of Asgard’s bloody future. Never will you need to bind me with chains come Ragnarok, for Ragnarok shall be irrelevant to me. Never need any of you think of me ever again.” Most of the gods look… _Excited_. Bragi is running his fingers through his beard; Freyr and Freya are nudging one another. Njord and Jarnaxa are looking at one another with no small amount of delight.

“If you do this,” the tall woman says, her voice quiet, “I will not be your mother.”

“My Lady Frigga, I come here to cast off the link to Asgard that has ever plagued me, ever cursed me, but not even the power of the Elders themselves could serve to tear out from me the love I hold for you, or for Thor. For any of you. Bar Freya.” Freyr laughs, and Freya looks _mulishly_ at Loki, but Frigga’s hand is on her heart, and tears shine in her eyes. “Esteemed Council, I seek only my freedom from your law. Ever and anon have I left Asgard, and ever and anon have I been destined to return, dragged back my forces I could not resist – destiny itself. Let me break that bond. All of you have wished eagerly for the day I should leave for Niflheim, have you not? And look at the scars Asgard has given me – my mouth torn to pieces, my eyes burned…” Loki’s voice is as quiet as Frigga’s had been, _entreating_ the council around him. “Allow me to be Loki, Son of Böl. Never shall I lay a claim upon the throne of Asgard; never shall any of you be tarred by my name. Strike my name from my record, and I shall go elsewhere.”

“And what do you demand in return for this _gift_ you offer us, Loki?” Odin asks. Thor’s head whips around to look at his father in shock and horror, and Loki smiles.

“Are you worried, Allfather, that I shall take back that which I have gifted to those of this council? The spear Gungir, after all, was acquired by _me_. Bragi’s lyre, of my making. And—” Suddenly, Loki is across the room, standing in the middle of the circle, and he holds his hands out to Thor. “Even the hammer _Mjölnir_?” Thor looks at Loki with disgust and shame on his face, and he grips tightly at the handle of the hammer.

“You could not wield Mjölnir.” Steve can’t see Loki’s face from here, but he sees the slight tilt of his head as he stares at his brother.

“Really?” Loki asks lowly. “Then why are you afeared to hand it to me?” Before Thor can answer, Loki is back on the other side of the circle, and he chuckles, as if at his own joke. “Nay, I ask only for the freedom of this Council, and of Asgard. I would ask the boon that I be permitted my freedom to visit, but with the understanding I have as little right to the things of Asgard as any stranger.”

“Has anyone objection?” Odin asks, quietly.

“There must be some trick,” Heimdall says, quietly. “Some secreted thing Loki hides from us."

“Always,” Loki agrees. “There are thousands of things I have not told this Council. But who among us keeps not secrets from his brothers and sisters?” The silence is positively _eerie_. Not one of the gods will look at one another: everybody’s eyes focus on the flickering blue flames in the middle of the circle instead. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you time to deliberate. This is a one-time offer. Your duty to Asgard as a whole must come before any middling connections you feel toward _me_. How much better off will Asgard be, without the Mischief-Maker wreaking his havoc?”

“All in favour,” Hel rasps out, even as she raises her right hand into the air. “The right hand high.” She has been utterly silent throughout all these proceedings, and Steve has to wonder… Does she know what her father is doing? Does she know what his plan is? Almost all of the hands rise up. Heimdall looks suspiciously at Loki, but then he raises his right hand.

“Brother,” Thor begins.

“Thor,” Loki whispers. “If you _love_ me, raise your hand.” Loki’s hand is raised as high as his daughter’s, held straight, the palm flat. Odin doesn’t seem to be voting, and there are two hold-outs – Frigga and Sigyn. Frigga stands with her hands crossed tightly over her chest, and Loki turns to her first. “My lady,” Loki says softly. “Surely you would not put the kingdom of Asgard under the Jötunn you took for a son?”

“You are my son,” Frigga declares. “You shall remain so.”

“Raise your hand, woman,” Loki snaps. “Or I shall never speak to you again.” There are gasps of shock and horror, and Frigga herself draws herself up, her lips pressing into a thin line. She stares at Loki, her blue eyes full of anger, but Loki’s expression is quietly neutral. “And Sigyn… We are husband and wife in name only. You might find another husband, better than I. Easily.” Sigyn’s dark eyes flit from Loki to Steve, and for a long few moments she says nothing.

“Is this what you desire, Loki?” Sigyn asks, softly. There is an accent to her voice, one that shows her as one of the Vanir – not of Asgard, just like Loki himself. Loki nods. “Is it worth making our children bastards, even as they are now dead?” After a long pause, Loki nods his head once more. “Truly?”

“Truly,” Loki promises, softly. Sigyn slowly raises her hand. After a long moment, Frigga does the same.

“The motion passes unanimously,” Odin declares. “You are no longer Loki of Asgard, the land that raised you. You have no claim to this throne, nor to any of us as your brothers, your sisters, your family. Your bloodline dissolves; your past links are severed. You are a stranger to Asgard, now.” Odin’s spear pounds once more against the ground. “The Council of the Gods is dismissed.”

“ _Actually_ ,” Loki says, in a voice so soft and serpentine that Steve has to strain to hear it. He sees the fear pass over the faces of the gods, sees every one of them – even Frigga and Thor – look _terrified_. “There’s one more thing.” Odin’s grip tightens around the spear, his ancient knuckles turning white. “It’s a little thing, really. I promise.” Loki laughs. The scarred, blue fades away, replaced by marble white once more. “It’s… Oh, Son of Bor, it is so tiny you’ll scarcely notice it.” Loki is all but _bouncing_ on his heels, he’s so excited, and his delight is almost infectious: it’s obvious he’s satisfied to scare all the others so much. “Bragi, my _dear_ friend. Pray, will you tell us of the prophesied Ragnarok?”

Bragi stares at Loki, and then looks askance to the council at large. No one objects, and so Bragi says, “T’was prophesied the children of Loki would lead to Ragnarok, and thus were they taken cast to the three corners of the Yggdrasil. One bound in chains in the base of the palace; another to rule the realm of Niflheim, and the other in the great seas. And when Ragnarok—”

“Mmm, no, don’t care about that bit,” Loki says, waving his hand. “Pray, clear something up for me. What children?”

“What?”

“You say the children of Loki. Why, I have no children. I have no link to Asgard whatsoever. The children of Sigyn are retroactively fatherless, in the eyes of Asgardian law. So too are the children of the Jötunn Angrboða.” Hel gasps, her right hand covering her mouth, and Steve can see the light of understanding in her dark eyes, the _joy_. “The Council of the Gods once declared that the children of Loki must be ripped from his breast and taken captive, so that they could not bring about Ragnarok. Why, what a silly decision that was, when Loki has no children! Obviously, the _caging_ of Fenrisúlfr, Jormungandr and Hel was a case of mistaken identity, and the three of them must be released immediately.”

“No.” Loki’s head whips toward Odin, and immediately he steps forward, onto the air itself. The air is abruptly crackling with power, with energy, and Steve stares as Odin take a step back from the freezing power that radiates from his son – no, not his son. From Loki.

“ _No_?” Loki repeats, his voice thrumming with power. “Give me your reasoning, Son of Bor! Why?”

“Because they are destined to bring about Ragnarok. I shall _not_ release them for—”

“Nay,” Loki growls. “The children of _Loki_ are destined to bring about Ragnarok. Those bastard children are destined for naught but freedom, and you shall give it back to them.”

“You cannot deny this, Son of Bor,” Hel says with her rasping voice, laughing as she does so. Frost forms on the floor around her ghostly feet. “The stranger is _right_. No longer can that old prophesy bind us, for we are not the children of Loki.”

“I can prove destiny for you, if you like,” Loki whispers. “I’ll bring about Ragnarok myself.”

“ _Loki!_ ” Thor growls, and Loki laughs.

“Release my children, or perish.” Steve can see it pains Odin to do so. He can see the tremble of that ancient lip, the twitch of his single remaining eye.

“I should have left you to die on that rock,” Odin says.

“Perhaps so,” Loki agrees. “Too late now, Allfather. Too late now.”

 **\-----** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\- ⓁⓈ -** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\-----**

**Summer  
Noon**

Loki is sobbing openly.

Steve stands at the edge of the bridge, watching as he stands in the centre of his children. Hel is completely solid now, pale but given a physical form, and he clutches her so tightly to his side it looks like she’s about to break; Loki’s forehead is pressed tightly to that of Fenrisúlfr’s, a great black wolf that howls low in his throat as he presses close to his father; and around them curls a gigantic snake with rippling, green coils, its tail bloody and heavy with wounds.

Tears flow freely down Loki’s cheeks, and Steve can hear his fevered apologies, hear all three of them – Jormungandr, Fenrisúlfr and Hel – talking at once as they hold tight to him, so tightly they’ll never let go.

Seiðr is flowing from Loki’s hands, and he heals the rusted, ugly wounds of shackles around Fenrisúlfr’s four ankles, his neck; he heals the ugly, tattered end of Jormungandr’s tail, healing where the snake’s own teeth had dug into it.

“Steven,” Loki says raggedly. Steve hesitates, but Loki is looking directly at him, gesturing for him to come closer. Steve turns to the side, looking at the gods and Æsir alike gathered at the city’s edge, staring down at Loki not of Asgard as he is finally reunited with the children he hasn’t seen in over a thousand years. Odin looks disgusted. Thor, though, looks… Sad. He, Sigyn and Frigga stand together, Frigga’s hands entwined with Thor’s and Sigyn’s alike.

Steve jumps down from the bridge and begins to move across the beach. He walks slowly, almost scared that one of them will lunge toward him, but they each hold their place. Jormungandr must be _hundreds_ of feet long, his body easily twice Loki’s height in width, and Fenrisúlfr is no puppy either – he’s forty feet at the shoulder, and his skull is almost as big as Loki is in size.

“This is Steven Rogers,” Loki whispers. “Come, come, Steven, you can—” Steve walks so close he can feel the warmth that radiates from Jormungandr, and – very carefully – he lays his hand on Jormungandr’s side. Jormungandr’s scales are nearly five times to size of Steve’s hand, and Steve swallows dryly as Jormungandr leans in. His eyes are amber, and they’re _huge_ in diameter, but the snake is… Smiling.

“Sssteven,” Jormungandr whispers. His tongue flicks out, tasting the air. “You taste of Midgard.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “I’m— I’m from New York.”

“Ah,” Jormungandr sighs, and he leans in closer: his huge nose gently butts against the top of Steve’s skull, the touch unspeakably gentle despite the greatness of his size. Loki and Hel climb out from between Jormungandr’s coils, and Hel’s hand is cool in Steve’s own as she moves to shake it.

“My name is Hel,” she says softly. “For so long I have ruled Niflheim, not quite dead, not quite living… To feel the sun on my face—” She looks up at the sky, which is brightly blue, with not a cloud in sight. “It is truly glorious. Father tells me if it were not for you, he would never have come to this scheme.” Her hands touch his cheeks, and she leans in, pressing their foreheads together for a second, and then she pulls away. She clambers onto Jormungandr’s back, laughing as he tosses her into the sand, and as they wrestle, Fenrisúlfr pads forward.

“Steven,” he declares. His wolfish jaws snap as he looks Steve in the eye: his eyes are shining silver, molten in the light. “You have the spirit of a wolf.”

“Nay,” Loki murmurs, patting his son’s flank. “A lion.” Fenrisúlfr laughs, and his silver eyes burn with flame as he does so, he bows his head, and Steve takes the cue Jormungandr and Hel had given him – awkwardly, he presses his own forehead head to the hard piece of skull between Fenrisúlfr’s eyes, feeling the great wolf’s breath hot against his feet, feeling the thick coarseness of his fur.

“You make him smile,” Fenrisúlfr whispers. “You make his heart sing.”

“I try,” Steve whispers back. Fenrisúlfr leans away, turning to run in the water with Jormungandr and Hel – despite the difference in their sizes, they move against one another naturally, and it’s obvious that despite her small size, Hel has no problem picking up _either_ of her brothers.

Loki sniffles, quietly, and Steve holds out a handkerchief from his pocket. Loki laughs and takes it, wiping at his eyes. “Do you want to see something?” Loki asks.

“Sure,” Steve says. The illusion passes from Loki’s face. Although his mouth remains marked over with scars and pock marks, his eyes are completely clear. The acid wash that was once heavy on his eyes, gluing his eyelashes together in places, lightening the colour of his eyes… It’s all gone. “You’re kidding.”

“My vision is quite perfect,” Loki murmurs. “That destiny is shattered now. Already it had been loosening its hold, but now—” Loki slides forward, his left hand drawing around Steve’s hip, and his right hand links with Steve’s: they stand posed as if they’re about to start dancing, and the tired smile on Loki’s face shows nothing but joy. “They’re free. All three of them, _free_ …”

“Don’t cry anymore,” Steve says in a soft voice, and Loki smiles, leaning in. Loki’s forehead is a welcome touch against Steve’s own, and he wonders what this means, _exactly_ , why it’s so significant that all three of Loki’s children felt the need to do it with him, a complete _stranger_ …

“I suppose I’ll try not to,” Loki replies. “Orders are orders.”

“That was— What you did. That was really smart.”

“Would that I’d thought of it centuries ago,” Loki says. He laughs, breathlessly. “I can’t believe it.”

“Loki.” Loki draws away from Steve, but not before his left hand shifts from Steve’s face and to the side of his neck instead, clutching at him protectively. Thor stands, breathing slightly heavily, on the beach. He levels Steve with a hard stare, but Loki shifts their position marginally, so that Steve is behind Loki instead of beside him. “I didn’t know. I would have— If I’d known, I would have supported it from the beginning.”

“I know,” Loki says. “You ought introduce yourself. They’ve never had the chance to know their uncle.”

“Am I their uncle, then?” Thor asks, in a whisper.

“As much as you are my brother,” Loki says. Steve steps back just in time: Thor’s arms wrap hard around Loki’s body, and Loki hugs him back tightly, clutching at the back of his hair. There’s a myriad of emotions on Loki’s face, and Steve can see the turmoil inside him. “Frigga, Heimdall, Sigyn! What on _Earth_ are you doing up there? Come meet my children! Volstagg, Fandral, Hogu— _All_ of you. Come now. That includes you, Sif, I can see your hesitation.”

Already a green-clad figure with blond hair is moving forward, and Loki grabs him in a tight hug, kissing both of his cheeks. They linger for just a second longer than Steve really likes, and then Loki goes to a giant of a man with red hair and a confused expression on his face, shaking his hand. Then, a Vanir man, then the woman Thor had seen earlier, with tight braids in her hair.

He hugs Frigga, and he kisses Sigyn on the mouth, but it’s chaste, and tender. Hel, Jormungandr and Fenrisúlfr are shaking the water from their forms as they come to the shore once more, and Steve watches as Hel greets Heimdall bodily, clutching at his hands and turning to introduce him to her brothers.

All three of them are stiff and slightly awkward, overly formal, but Steve can see they’re following Loki’s example – not one of them shows anger, or resentment. Steve remembers Loki’s memory, the one Loki had showed him in the lake at X-Mansion – he thinks of the Ancient-Loki’s children, who chose peace instead of revenge and died for it. Nobody’s dying here.

The sun is high in the sky as Bragi comes down to the beach with a lyre in his hand – the lyre Loki had made him? – and begins to play.

 **\-----** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\- ⓁⓈ -** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\-----**

“You do not join the festivities,” Loki says quietly. Music drifts through the open archways, from down below in the city. The throne room is dark, with only two lanterns lit despite the rapid blanket of the night closing in, and Loki can barely see the King of Asgard sat upon his throne.

“I don’t need to see the trick to know it is coming,” Odin says, lowly. “They will destroy Asgard.”

“Nay,” Loki replies. His slippers make no noise as he comes forward, easily ascending the steps toward the throne. “Already, I have decided upon lodgings for Jormungandr and Fenrisúlfr each, on a planet far from here. Hel is uncertain, but she thinks she will take a place upon Midgard.”

“Then _you_ will destroy Asgard.” Loki looks at his father’s face, draped in darkness, and he conjures a seat of wood for him to sit upon, his back facing the conference room, his face toward Odin himself.

“No,” Loki says. “I had a vision.”

“A vision?” Odin repeats. “You have never been a diviner before now.”

“I had to change to break the bonds I was in,” Loki says simply. “I opened myself to the heat of the multiverse, and forcibly broadened my horizons.” Odin’s eye rests heavily on Loki’s face, his lips twisted into a deep scowl. “In my vision, I met anther Loki, far removed from I. He was ancient with the weight of a billion realities… He too shucked off destiny, and thus circumvented Ragnarok.”

“There are things you know not, boy,” Odin says lowly, his voice scarce more than a growl. Loki laughs.

“ _Boy_. Evidently, there are things you know not yourself, old man.” Loki looks out into the darkness of the hall, where some of the remaining light is shining in through the golden arches. “I never desired the throne, you know. I merely wished for your assurance that I would be as good a king as any.”

Odin is silent.

“I don’t wish to kill you,” Loki murmurs. “Nor do I want revenge upon you for the ways you have wronged me, for you have done me kindnesses, too. You said yourself t’was my birthright to die, and yet you took me in. You allowed me to ascend to the Council of the Gods; you hid the truth of Sleipnir’s birth from all, as you did the embarrassment of my own lineage. In your own, twisted way, I think you have loved me. Even in your permitting the murder of Angrboða, the secret of my birth, your sharp words… Even in those acts, I think you held a love for me, as wrong as they were.”

Odin is silent.

“But you are old, and foolish. Your bitterness and your prejudice blinds you to the truth of the universe far more than your lost eye. You are greedy, and selfish, and vengeful. You hoard so many secrets that you do not realise you can lighten the load of them upon your shoulders…” All of these things describe Loki, in one way or another. The Loki he was – the Loki he still is. The Loki he must break out of. Loki sighs, and he stands. He leans forward, and he feels Odin tilt his neck back just slightly, expecting a blade at his throat.

Loki catches the back of his grey head, and he presses their brows together. He hears Odin’s _gasp_ , although Loki’s own eyes are tightly shut and he will not look at the Allfather’s face. This is an old, ancient symbol upon Asgard – peace, and family, and trust, all at once.  Odin’s tired brow is wrinkled and warm against Loki’s own, and he can smell the scent of the old man’s armours, the ointment in his hair, the oil that shines his spear.

“My son,” Odin whispers, his voice cracking with age and emotion alike.

“Father,” Loki whispers back. “All is well.” He could stab him. H could pierce Odin with his own spear, right here, murder him forevermore— Loki finds he does not wish to. How foreign is that sensation. _Forgiveness_. Loki draws away, and he begins to walk down the stairs.

“I do, you know.”

“Do what?” Loki says, freezing on the stair. His heart skips a beat in his chest.

Odin is silent.

 **\-----** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\- ⓁⓈ -** **❅** **-** **✪** **-** **❅** **\-----**

“What happens now?” Fandral asks, quietly. He and Loki stand side by side, their elbows rested against the wall that separates the city of Asgard from the path down to the beach below. On the distant horizon, the sun is but a golden sliver as it disappears beneath the water.

“I will take my children far from here,” Loki says simply. “Jormungandr to a great planet where he can rule all, amidst a wide ocean… Fenrisúlfr to that planet too. I have one in mind, and the planet itself is populated only by beasts and wild things. The two of them would be the greatest intelligences on the planet.”

“And Hel?”

“She isn’t certain. I think she will travel somewhat, as I did in my youth.” Loki feels the weight of the day’s work upon his shoulders: the last of his mischiefs upon Asgard, and the greatest. The finality of it all cuts him to the bone. “I will back to Midgard.”

“With Steven,” Fandral murmurs, a little tease creeping into his voice, and Loki smiles.

“With Steven,” Loki agrees. Fandral sighs, looking out over the water. Fenrisúlfr is laying upon the beach, talking at length with the man in question: Steven has his shield laid over his lap, and is giving a blow-by-blow account of some tale or other. Volstagg and Hogun are listening with him, and when Fenrisúlfr laughs, his rasping chuckles mingle with Volstagg’s loud ones. “He’s a good man.”

“It seems you are, these days,” Fandral replies. Loki shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, I’m not. But I think…” He trails off, and he turns to meet Fandral’s gaze. “Do you think I could be?”

“Always,” Fandral says, and his hand touches Loki’s shoulder. “You can be anything, Loki. Anything you want. I’ve long-since known that.” Loki smiles. The expression is soft, and it feels as natural as anything where it settles on his face.

“Thank you, Fandral. Truly. Your faith… It means a lot to me.” Fandral’s hand draws away. “We ought return. Fenrisúlfr has just challenged Volstagg to spar with him.” Fandral claps his hands together, letting out a low sound of delight.

“Sounds like it’s time for a bet!”

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**July 27 th, 2012  
10:12PM**

Loki sags against the wall, and Steve laughs at him as he shuts the apartment door behind them. Once they had left Asgard, it had taken a few days to settle Jormungandr and Fenrisúlfr on the planet Loki had mentioned, and then they’d spent time with Hel, showing her Loki’s library in the Fon System. Turns out Loki had had a few dozen house deeds on a few planets, and it had been—

Incredible.

Stepping on completely foreign soils, seeing all kinds of aliens, as Loki had shown Hel new choices for places to live, opened the world up to her… It had been unlike any experience Steve had ever _had_.

And understandably, now, Loki is absolutely exhausted.

“Come on, big guy,” Steve murmurs, and he catches Loki by the back of the knees, lifting him away from the wall. Loki is wearing a light skirt and blouse, and he is limp in Steve’s arms as Steve carries him into the bedroom.

“This is all changing before I make my home here,” Loki mumbles, his eyes closed.

“You’re not even _looking_ at it,” Steve points out, unable not to laugh.

“I don’t need to.” But Loki’s lips are quirked into a little smile, and Steve drops him onto the bed, sliding onto the bed beside him. “My face hurts from smiling so much, this past week… I never believed I could feel such joy.” Loki pulls Steve close to him, and Steve presses his face against the hard, cool panel of Loki’s chest.  “I’m rather torn.”

“Between?”

“Ravishing you, or sleeping for fifteen hours in a row.”

“I think we can go with both,” Steve murmurs. “You know, we could do the ravishing after the sleep… Or I could wake you up seven and a half hours in, get some ravishing in there, and then go back to sleep.” Loki laughs. “Go to sleep.”

“Alright,” Loki assents. His fingers press under Steve’s light tunic – something Hel had picked out for him, that is distinctly _not_ Earth-like, but is comfortable and warm – and slide over his spine. “Join me? Keep me _warm_.”

“Okay,” Steve murmurs.

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Loki uploads no less than 347 photographs of his children to Facebook, as well as some 100 others of different planets. Natasha Romanov **Likes**  every single one.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I cried a lot writing this.
> 
> Feel free to HMU on [Tumblr.](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com)


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